Ebook

COVER REVEAL

ANGEL by C.A.BELL – COMING JUNE 16TH 2017

BLURB

What lies behind the door to Chateau Rouge is all that Angel knows – sex, drugs, abuse, and treachery. But when Felix, an artist from England, enters into her tiny world, he opens her eyes to what life could really be, and now, Angel wants out. There’s just one problem. There’s no way on earth the owner, Grand Papa, will ever let her leave Chateau Rouge. She is his. His possession. His whore. His Angel.

Angel has a choice to make. Does she finally stand up to the man who has taken so much from her? Or does she give up true love through fear of what lies outside the walls of Chateau Rouge – freedom.

About C.A.Bell

C.A.Bell was born and raised on the outskirts of London, England, but for the past four years has resided in the west midlands where she married and made a home.

She is author to numerous erotic fiction stories, including The Architect, Nancy’s Curse, Femme Fatale: The Agency, The Shame Train, and many more. As well as putting together her own collections of short stories and poetry, she is also a contributor to many anthologies and online magazines.

Well it’s been a while since I last posted actually content, so just for your eyes only and as a special thank you to all my fb friends who have been supporting my meagre efforts, here is a sneak peak of my upcoming WIP – Afternoon Tea, planned for release this Christmas (with that in mind i may change a few things to make this more seasonal).

Afternoon Tea

By L.M. Mountford

The sizes were not quite exact. There were flecks of jam dotted here and there. And some of the butter cream had spilled over the edge when they’d been pressed together; but all in all, she doubted she had ever made a finer batch of Viennese Whirls.

“Now that’s what I call a proper tea time treat.” Beaming, Ashley turned her eyes up from the biscuits to face the bank of webcams on the other side of her kitchen. There were six in-all. Each strategically arranged on a collapsible rigging to provide the best shots of the long island worktop. The cams buzzed with life, their inbuilt motion sensors detecting her motion and refocusing. “And these are great for sharing with friends over a brew, or if you just fancy something to nibble on as you go about the house.”

It was a loosely rehearsed speech she’d been agonising over all morning. A mesh of facts, quips and banter she devised before any show to pick and mix as she saw fit in the moment and, coupled with her delicate beauty, pouting lips and soft emerald eyes framed by honey blond tresses, helped to endear her to her audience.

With a twist of her lips that boarded on devilish, she plucked a biscuit from the plate and like a connoisseur pondering and savouring a fine vintage, exaggerated a long, deep breath. There was very little of the freshly baked aroma. It had been all but spent in the time it had taken her to perform the delicate operation to cream and sandwich the two biscuits together. Fortunately, the treats were still warm and the fruity bouquet of strawberry and blackberry jams wafting round her nostrils was more than enough incentive to have her sighing a low, delectable sound for the cameras. As dad says, what the eyes don’t see the chief gets away with.

Biscuit crumbled as she bit into it, cream coating her tongue. Though the measurements she’d quoted for the camera were the generic quantities, this recipe was one of her own. And it was very nice, but there was too much butter. Nearly there, she observed while chewing, maybe swap 20gs of butter for sugar, with perhaps two teaspoons of cinnamon to compliment the buttercream. There was still plenty of time. Her new book’s deadline wasn’t until the beginning of May, that still gave her two months to work out all the little kinks.

She swallowed, plush pink tongue darting out to collect any lingering traces of the buttercream. “Like most cakes these are best eaten on the day you make them but will last for two or three more if properly stored.” As she spoke, she placed the half-eaten biscuit onto a piece of folded kitchen paper, then reached underneath to trigger the remote control hidden underneath, activating the cam’s shutoff timer.

30, 29,28… Mentally mirroring the countdown, she continued, carefully picking up the plate of Viennese whirls and holding it up for the cameras to focus on. She pulled a broad smile, praying there weren’t crumbs in her teeth “Make that special person in your life a few of these and they’ll be putty in your hands.” 17,16,15… “But I’m afraid that’s all for today my lovelies.”11,10,9… “Thanks for tuning in and until next week, I’m Ashley Hart and this is-” The signoff died on her lips, her smile dropping. “What? No!”

It didn’t make sense. She stared at the camera rigging, not entirely sure what she was seeing. Then it clicked, and she only wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and cry and ball her fists and hit something like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, and it was all she could do to place the plate of bisects back onto the island, be it not as delicately as the crookery warranted. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t anything go the way she wanted, instead of all just crashing down around her head?

A second. Damnit, that was all she’d needed, one second. Just one more damn itsy-bitzy teeny-weeny second. Instead, the cams had cut out a full five second’s too early, effectively cutting her off mid exit.

“For Fuck sake!” she cursed, slapping her hands down on the counter hard enough to send stinging barbs zipping through her palms. Angry tears burned the corners of her eyes. This was why she hated prerecording shows. An entire morning’s work, ruined.

She most of accidentally changed back to the factory setting while redirecting the feed without realising.

On any other day, the cams would have live streamed a hi-definition visual and audio feed directly to her website. Today however she had redirected the footage to her laptop for storage. It gave her a peace of mind to know she had an emergency show on hand, an insurance policy against one of life’s unforeseen, and unavoidable, eventualities rearing its ugly head and throwing a spanner in her works. She’d been meaning to do one for a while and, after that debacle this morning, it had been all she could think to do. After all, things couldn’t exactly get any worse.

And it had all started so perfectly…

************

Humming the jaunty tune of Game of Throne’s The Bear and the Maiden Fair, Ashley could barely contain her self-congratulatory grin as she rolled the sizzling sausages over the lip of the frying pan onto an almost bursting plate of bacon and eggs. Mmm…Garrick’s going to love these.

So far, everything was going to plan. She’d woken up an hour early, quickly turned off the alarm clock so it wouldn’t wake her sleeping husband, then gone around the house unplugging all the phones for good measure. After a quick shower that was sure to be a personal record breaker and dressed in nothing but her fluffy pink dressing gown, her hair tightly wrapped in a towel, she’d slipped downstairs and into the kitchen to prepare her man’s favourite breakfast in bed.

This, however, was just the first of the surprises she had prepared for him today and the thought of what awaited made it impossible to restrain her grin.

Steam billowed up with an angry hiss as she dunked the pan into the sink but Ashley was already pouring two glasses of orange juice, anticipation coiling around her belly. So much was riding on today, and it had been so long since they’d had breakfast together, she felt like a girl on Christmas morning just counting down the minutes until she can open her presents.

Placing the glasses on either side of the plate, she carefully picked up the serving tray and carried it round the island, out the kitchen, through the hall and up the stairs. At the top of the stairs and the first on the rght, their bedroom door was just as she’d left it, closed but not entirely shut. Somehow managing to balance the tray with one hand, she gave the door just enough of a push to open a gap wide enough to slip through then nudged it closed behind her with a nudge of her heel.

Garrick was still asleep. Stretched languorously across the bed, lying on his front with his legs on his side and his face half buried in his wife’s pillows with inky strands of sleep tousled hair fanned out across relaxed, classily handsome features, he resembled a great lion stretched across a rock. A powerful beast wrapped in human skin, lord of all he surveyed and sheer force of nature, now at deceptive peace, sleeping off a long night’s hunting.

Well aware he slept naked, hot tingling feelings shot out from her core as she placed the breakfast down on their chest of draws, her eyes roaming over the great heap in the comforter that was all that barred him from her voyeur delights, her mind swimming with thoughts of just how she might wake him. Her mouth began to water when she paused over the curve his butt and couldn’t help picturing his thick veiny cock pressed between him and the mattress, swollen and engorged, the head glistening with precum just begging to be licked. Garrick was by nature a heavy sleeper and after his long spell of late nights, she might have to pay him special lip service.

He must have gotten back very late last night. Usually she would wait up for him whenever he was running late, but since all the trouble with Natural Beauty began, Garrick had been forced to stay on later and later. After a week of these, her husband had finally told her to just go to bed if he wasn’t home by ten. It was with great reluctance that she’d agreed, but only after she’d fallen asleep on the sofa while waiting for him two days in a row and been too groggy to perform her show the next day, and she never went to bed without leaving his dinner out and ready to go in the oven beside a loving note and explicit instructions on how to cook it. Alpha male or not, no one fucked with her kitchen.

“Morning sleepy head.” Careful to keep her voice soft to avoid waking him too suddenly, she bent down to place a soft kiss on his brow. “Rise and shi-ahhh!”

In the time it took for one sleep-hazed emerald eye to flicker open, a long chiselled arm snapped out from under the covers to hook her waist and drag her in. The world spun. Softness rushed up to meet her back. Then Garrick was on her, caging her, his lips smothering her surprised squeak.

There was nothing slow in the kiss. Nothing sluggish or tentative. Garrick kissed her hard. His lips firm and unyielding against hers, urging hers open. Then his tongue was inside, drinking her in with deep sweeping licks that were just the right blend of playful and dominating to have every nerve in her body tingling, and it was all Ashley could do not to melt beneath him.

No, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Somewhere on the fringes of her increasingly foggy consciousness, A small part of her wanted to push him away and desperately willed her arms to do something, anything other than wrap around him. It wasn’t fair. He needed to suffer for all he’d put her through. She needed to resist, to push him off, quickly, before…

A throaty purr mewed from her throat when Garrick found her tongue, first flicking the tip then sliding over and under, mimicking the lick that never failed to make her cum.

No man should be allowed to kiss like this. How was she supposed to resist him when one kiss could turn her knees to jelly?

God damn him, this wasn’t a kiss. It was seduction. Sheer toe curling seduction; and Ashley couldn’t stop herself from giving in, her eyes growing heavy as her core throbbed with each sweep of his tongue. All protests were forgotten in the haze fogging her thoughts, her world dissolving around the hard, gloriously male body caging her to the bed. Then there was only the now, the moment, them together at last. Suddenly Ashley couldn’t remember why she’d wanted to stop. She only wanted her husband

Her surrender came out in a breathy moan. Shoving one hand through his cropped hair while the other grabbed his arse, she kissed him back, matching each stroke of his tongue with one of her own like dancers falling into step, slipping into a familiar rhythm that seemed to invoke a storm of pure sexual energy inside her. It wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough.

She was drowning in him, in the very best of ways. His flavour, the scent of his skin and the warmth of his presence, it enveloped her, cocooned her, flooding her every sense until even his very proximity was an aphrodisiac.

Needing him closer, her spine curled and she clung to Garrick with a desperate passion, crushing herself to him and refusing to let go. Heat licked along her abdomen and up her belly, making her breasts feel heavy and sensitive, her already firm nipples tightening to stiff peaks that ached for attention as they dragged over his skin through the silk. The tease of friction served only to wet her appetite, making the pulsing between her thighs grow so prominent she couldn’t help wriggling beneath him in a desperate search for…. oh god!

Welcome

Welcome to my blog, though i no longer writer under DarkInferferno, except for in my fanfics. It is the new, because the old was unfortunatly corupted with a redirect that i couldn't dislodge. It's annoying but time waits for no man so here is the new.